


Syrupy Sweet

by ChubbinLovin (TinyBibliophile)



Series: Coming Home to You [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Button Popping, Chubstuck, F/M, Fat fetish, Fatstuck, Homestuffed, Stuffing, Weight Gain, fat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBibliophile/pseuds/ChubbinLovin
Summary: What better way to spend your first real date with Dave than unlimited pancakes? Maybe he overindulged a little bit, but you're not complaining.





	Syrupy Sweet

It was finally time for you and Dave’s first real date. No interruptions, no last minute cancellations. The two of you even woke up a bit earlier that morning just so you could rush to get ready and hurry out the door. Once you were in the car, there was nothing that could’ve gotten you out before you reached your destination. 

The restaurant was relatively quiet, having just missed the hectic breakfast rush. Even still, knowing full well about how this date was going to go, you requested a corner booth to provide as much privacy as possible, if only for Dave’s sake. There was no way he was getting out of this restaurant without the possibility of causing a scene, you were sure of it. The hostess obliged without so much as a raised eyebrow, which you were both grateful for.

 

You knew something was going to happen, but you didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. From the second you two sat down he’d started to squirm uncomfortably. He took up almost his entire side of the booth by himself, but that wasn’t the real problem. No, what bothered him more was the way the edge of the table pressed into his gut, forcing a roll of flesh to sit heavily on top.

 

“G-goddamnit,” he huffed, shifting in his seat as he pushed the bulge of his belly underneath the table. If you were honest, it didn’t really do much good, and you doubted it was much more comfortable. “Since when are booths so small?”

 

“I don’t think it’s the booth’s fault,” you remarked tauntingly, meeting his eyes over your menu. His face flushed as he opened his mouth to retort, only to snap it shut again. He knew you were right. “So, what do you want?”

 

“Unlimited pancakes, obviously.” You weren’t sure you were going to survive this. As if he could read your mind, he smirked a bit and continued shifting in his seat. He apparently opted to let his stomach rest on top of the table again, only to move it back underneath a few minutes later. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m hungry.”

 

“I’m sure you are.”

 

Your waitress came fairly quickly to take your drink orders: Dave got a coffee and you orange juice. Before she left, you let her know that you were ready to order your food as well. She didn’t say anything when Dave asked for the unlimited pancakes, but you saw her eyes dart down to the situation of his stomach squashed against the table. His shades helped as he pretended not to notice.

 

When your drinks came, he immediately went to work creating a small mountain of cream and sugar packets to sweeten it. “I thought you liked it black?” you commented slyly, taking a casual sip of your juice.

 

“Yeah, I used to. Then I decided I loved myself.” 

 

You snickered a bit, but said nothing else. It was ungodly how he kept fidgeting and shifting uncomfortably in his seat, unable to decide what position for his fat stomach was both the least embarrassing and the most comfortable. The answer apparently was neither. You were grateful when your food finally arrived, if not just so he had something else to focus on.

 

Watching him drown his pancakes in butter and maple syrup was enough to make you feel all warm and fluttery inside. “I always knew you were a glutton,” you teased, digging into your own plate of food, “but this is somethin’ else.”

 

“Shut up,” he retorted before popping a heaping mouthful of sugary sweet, fried batter into his mouth. The way he sighed through the mouthful made you melt a little bit. “Fuck, pancakes have never tasted so good.”

 

You bit back a snide comment and washed it down with orange juice; instead you just took to enjoying watching him eat. His tongue occasionally flicked out over his lips or to lick his chubby fingers clean, making your breath halt in your throat each time. Within ten minutes he’d finished his first short stack and was flagging the waitress down for another. When it came, he repeated his original process, except this time he used the strawberry syrup.

 

You could already tell what he was doing, even if he himself wasn’t aware of it. His expression through each bite became more and more like a miniscule orgasm, and by the time he’d gotten halfway through his third plate he was breathing a bit heavily. His cheeks were a pretty shade of pink, one hand rubbing his filling belly as subtly as possible. His stomach had begun to swell out a bit, pressing even more into the table; this time when he tried to shift the mound underneath, it wouldn’t budge. He squirmed, biting his lip as he began to set his fork down.

 

“Don’t tell me your done already,” you goaded with a wry smirk. “You’ve still got two more syrups to try.”

 

He whined a little bit, now tugging at the somewhat stretched fabric of his hoodie as it began to ride up over his belly. “I want to keep going, but-”

 

“Then do it.”

 

Even through his shades you could see the guilty pleasure in his face as he leaned back as much as the small space would allow him. Then he continued eating, much to your delight. “Fuck, my belt is killing me,” he groaned after finishing the last bite of his third short stack. “It’s so tight~...”

 

Now it was your turn to squirm a little bit, swallowing the dryness in your mouth. “You should’ve known better than to wear a belt in the first place. Don’t tell me you didn’t know how this was gonna go.”

 

“I did,” he started with a sharp smirk, “that’s why I wore it. It’s so hot the way it’s digging into me…” You couldn’t help but smile giddily as he played with the underside of his belly, his hips rocking as much as possible without drawing attention to himself. The fabric of his pants creaked stiffly around his ass, and he bit the inside of his lip. 

 

When your waitress came back, she wasn’t even surprised at this point when you ordered another plate for him. He was too embarrassed to ask himself, and besides, his laboured breathing and stutters would’ve given him away in a second. The fourth plate appeared and disappeared in what seemed like a blink of an eye, and now he was undeniably bloated and full.

 

“Mnn,” he keened under his breath, resisting the urge to undo his belt as it squeezed his stuffed gut tighter and tighter. “Fuck, I can hardly breathe…”

 

You could definitely believe that. His chest was heaving with effort, his breaths shuddering as he rubbed his full belly. His face was nearly the color of the strawberry syrup he’d so heartily enjoyed, and as close to his capacity as he seemed, he didn’t argue when you ordered a fifth plate of pancakes for him. His stomach was groaning and gurgling audibly, which only made him lick his lips with want.

 

“What a glutton,” you purred tauntingly as he tucked into his fifth and final short stack. “I’m surprised that bench is still in one piece~.”

 

He groaned through a mouthful of boysenberry soaked pancakes, and as if to punctuate your point his seat made a similar noise beneath him. It was a struggle, but he finally finished his five course meal, melting against the back of his seat and splaying his hands across his stretched-taut tummy. “I’m so f-full,” he panted out, lips quivering upon the last word.

 

“Am I gonna have to request a wheelbarrow to roll you outta here?” While he bit back a humiliated, but undeniably aroused moan, he shook his head.

 

“Just need a minute,” he assured you, taking as deep a breath as he was capable. “Fuck this belt,” he added as he squirmed again. 

 

Again you took in the full picture: Dave, panting and blushing furiously, stuffed to his limit as his ass took up almost the entire width of his side of the booth. You couldn’t see it, but you knew his stomach was bulging out from underneath his shirt, his thick thighs spread apart to give his hard-on as much room as possible. “Come sit by me,” you said suddenly, scooting inwards in the booth and patting the space beside you. “I wanna feel you~.”

 

“I might crush you against the wall,” he responded dully, though his tone didn’t sound entirely dissuaded.

 

“Here’s hoping.”

 

Swallowing thickly and struggling to sit up straight, you saw his brows raise in surprised embarrassment as he attempted to stand. “Oh my god~.” His tone was breathy and lustful, mixed with uncertainty. “N-not again…” For a moment he wouldn’t look at you, instead too fixated on the way he was bulging out over the table and how heavy he felt. He was thouroughly trapped in place by his own massive belly and wide backside. “I’m… fuck, I’m stuck again.”

 

“I know.”

 

Heat flooded his cheeks as he seemed to struggle to find a retort. “Oh my god, for real, I don’t know if I can get up,” he said a little more frantically after another moment of squirming and panting with effort. “I-I’m too… too big.”

 

You reassured him, calming him just long enough for the waitress to bring your check without making his situation known. Only once she’d left did you stand up and move to Dave’s side of the booth to further inspect the issue. The table was the kind that was bolted to the ground, so that was a no-go. Even his ass took up the entirety of his seat, squashed against the back of the bench. “Can you, like,” you paused, looking over your shoulder, “shimmy sideways? Just slide out?”

 

He swallowed thickly as he attempted this. “I think so, I just feel so heavy… it’s hard to move.” You could hear his stomach audibly squishing and sliding against the table, the fabric around his ass and thighs groaning with even the smallest shift of his weight. Finally he managed to get close enough to the outside of the booth to turn laboriously, giving you a full view of his predicament for the first time.

 

A good inch of his muffin top was exposed by his hoodie, the treacherous belt lost underneath the stiff fold of his stomach. The fabric was pulled taut around his middle, and the zipper had begun to be forced downwards by his girth. It took all the effort you could muster, but you managed to help him up as you took both his hands and pulled. He heaved himself up, wobbling on his feet a bit as he held his stomach and leaned into you. 

 

“Fuck,” you gasped as he pressed into you, “you’re such a fatass, Strider…” A meek little whimper squeezed in his throat, making you grin. “Think you can walk?”

 

He nodded, but it turned out to be more of a sluggish, lumbering waddle than actually walking. You paid for your meal at the counter, ignoring the concern painting the cashier’s face as she looked at your half-horny, half mortified boyfriend. You left the restaurant promptly and climbed into the car. You helped lower him into the driver’s seat as he cradled his swollen belly, then climbed into the passenger side.

 

Almost immediately he was digging around under his muffin top to find the buckle of his belt, sighing in relief as he finally undid it. His rolls and folds visibly relaxed with the ease of pressure, and he groaned loudly in pleasure as you rubbed circles into his belly. “Fucking hell,” he sighed needily. “I can feel myself ready to bust outta these.” He gestured meaningfully to his pants, your mouth turning to sandpaper and your core tingling with excitement.

 

“Not till we get you home, you’re not.”

 

By some miracle he managed the drive to his house without major incident. You were the first to get out of the car so you could once again help him up. It was a careful task, him moving without causing enough pressure for the button of his jeans to pop off. Not yet, anyway. He shook and panted with the effort of every step, but finally you reached the privacy of his bedroom. Your hands roamed over his full stomach, pushing the strained fabric of his hoodie and t-shirt up to his breasts.

 

He melted and shivered under your touch as you found the angry, reddened indentations where his belt had cut into his skin. Now that it was open, you could see the way his button struggled and strained, pulled apart by the swollen overhand of his belly. “I can’t believe you ate so much,” you hummed, leaning down to pepper kisses along the smooth globe of his stomach.

 

You guided him over to the bed, coaxing him to sit down. Even with his slow, careful movements, the stitches of his button gave one final scream before finally forfeiting. His stomach wobbled freely into his lap as his fly broke open with a loud  _ snap _ . “Oh ffffffuuuuuck~,” he groaned in relief, lifting the freed weight of his tummy gingerly in his hands. “F-fuck me… ”

 

Sighing with want, you climbed into his lap and ground your hips softly into his gut. “Trust me, I fully intend to fuck you,” you moaned lovingly into his ear, loving the shudder it sent through him. “Can you even get those off?”

 

“M-maybe not on my own…”

 

You were happy to oblige in helping him with the task. Laying down on his back, he struggled to lift his hips high enough for you to start tugging the denim nuisance off. Tight as his boxers were, you could still see the tent of his erection, giving it a small stroke through the flimsier fabric. “You’re so shameless,” you admonished under your breath, making him whine with want. “Pretty soon you won’t have any pants left~.”

 

“Nng… please,” he begged, his thighs squeezing together to give his dick the gift of friction. “Please just hurry up and fuck me…” 

 

Palming him through his pre-cum soaked boxers, you thought it over. “I want you to top me,” he finally decided as you slid the shades off his face. His expression seemed uncertain.

 

“You’re sure I won’t crush you?”

 

“I can think of worse things,” you replied with a grin.

 

It was a bit of a chore for him, but you laid yourself bare on his bed and allowed him to climb on top of you. You’d both undressed, and the way his fat gut weighed down on your body as he sat on his hands and knees was sinful. Certain that his stomach must be cramping, you traced the skin with your fingertips as you raised your hips to meet his. “Think you can manage around that big, fat belly of yours?” you murmured tauntingly, rubbing circles into it.

 

“D-dunno,” he admitted, shifting to pump his hard-on once or twice to prep himself. “But I can try.” 

 

It turned out he could, but it definitely wasn’t easy. It would've been a struggle even _before_ he'd stuffed himself to the point of his stomach being a big, full, taut balloon of silky-soft skin. He had to lay his stomach over you in just the right way just to get inside. You relished how his gut rippled and audibly smacked against your skin with every needy thrust, holding fistfuls of his ass in your hands to guide to his movements. 

 

His fears of crushing you under his bulk turned out to be justified, the combination of his weight on top of you and your frantic love-making turning your breaths short and haggard. As much as every breath was a struggle, as light as your head began to get from the pleasure and lack of oxygen, it was so, so worth it to feel him like that. You weren’t even able to moan or verbalize your pleasure, all your concentration dedicated to keep yourself from suffocating under his fat body as stars burst in front of your eyes, electric sensations ricocheting through every nerve of your body.

 

As usual, he pulled out just before coming. You were honestly a bit surprised how much longer than you he’d lasted that time, usually either being the first to finish or finishing in unison with you. But even as your orgasm melted away into a soft, pleasant hum of sensations, he was fervently rocking his hips back and forth until he gasped and cried out your name.

 

Your chest was heaving as he rolled off of you, making the bed shake and shriek with the sudden shift of his weight. Your vision was hazy as you struggled to breathe deeply again, and as you looked sideways to meet his eyes you saw genuine concern there. Before he could even ask to make sure you were okay, you snuggled close and sighed into his breast. “That was… fucking amazing,” you panted out raggedly, a smile forming on your lips.

 

You felt him nod in agreement, but he seemed just as out of breath as you, unable to speak. Sweat made your skin stick to his, feeling every full curve and plump roll mold against your pressing fingers. It didn’t seem to matter to either of you that it was barely two in the afternoon; you dozed off in each others’ arms, sharing your warmth and indulging in one another’s distinct scents.

 

This was easily the best Spring Break of your life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This will probably be the last work in this series, at least for now. If you have more ideas for kinky shenanigans, let me know at chub-game-so-strong on tumblr! Thanks for reading and keeping up with the story.


End file.
